


Hands and Knees and Prey

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha Genji Shimada, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Just Your Average Sci Tags, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Mentions of Patricide, Omega Hanzo Shimada, Sibling Incest, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Hanzo lets his robes drop to the ground and turns, walking to the edge of the forest where the trees start to thicken in earnest.  The priests are lighting incense, mumbling prayers in the old language.  There’s the rustle of leaves and the rush of energy that tell Hanzo more of the wolves behind him are shifting.The moonlight is a physical thing on his skin.  Hanzo closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sky, lets it wash over him in waves.  He wants Genji with a ferocity that’s dug itself into his flesh, anchored in his ribs, bound to Hanzo’s bones.He wants Genji, but first he has to run.





	Hands and Knees and Prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atraitorslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atraitorslie/gifts).

> Thanks to atraitorslie, you are the best, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings for intersex omegaverse biology (IE omegas with both a cock and a vagina) as well of some implications of vaguely dubious consent as a part of the universe itself, but not anything that occurs here, really.

The sky is bright indigo, stars scattered like crystals against it, moon vivid and overwhelming where it hangs high above them. It won’t be truly full until tomorrow night, but it’s full enough to have his teeth sharp, his eyes glowing.

Full enough to have him wet and aching between his thighs, his first true heat on him like a second skin. Dry leaves crunch underfoot as he makes his way through the trees, following the pack priests down a winding trail towards the temple grounds. The snows haven’t started in earnest, but it’s viciously cold already; Hanzo’s breath fogs in front of him, his hands numb even tucked away in his gloves. It won’t be a problem for much longer.

Soon his heat will keep him warm.

Hanzo listens to mournful howling in the distance, something hungry in the sound. It’s a single wolf in the beginning, but others join one by one until there are dozens of voices twined together carried to him on the wind. They can scent him, even from this distance. They sing for him, howls rising and falling like they can’t help themselves. They can’t, really.

Tomorrow they’ll be hunting him through the forest, some on two legs, others on four.

Tomorrow they’ll be frenzied in their desperation to reach him; get their teeth in his neck, their scent on his skin.

Some of them have come from hundreds of miles away to chase him. Others stepped forward from his own ranks during the last full moon when Hanzo’s false heat was sweet in the air— a whisper of what was to come. 

A warning, giving them time to prepare the mating run. The call went out to the neighboring packs, word spreading far and wide. The Shimada clan is old, and powerful, an unbroken line of leaders with ancient spirits at their beck and call; being mated to Hanzo would give them more power than most of them could ever hope to attain on their own.

A handful of alphas from Hanzo’s own clan had gone to one knee during the last moon, heads tilted to the side in submission as they declared themselves.

Declared their intent to participate in the run. To hunt Hanzo down, fight him until he surrenders. Hanzo can’t refuse them the chance.

Any alpha can run. It isn’t his place to pick and choose.

The moon will give him the strength to fight them off, or she won’t. All Hanzo can do is bare his teeth and keep running.

The priests lead Hanzo to a small room adjacent to the temple where he’ll be confined until things get underway. They’ll stand guard outside to make sure no alphas get any ideas about getting to Hanzo early, but it’s out of tradition more than necessity. Heats make omegas strong, and aggressive, give them the stamina they need to carry them through the merciless days of their cycle.

Only a fool of an alpha would try anything, but omegas often make fools of them, so the priests fan out around the temple as Hanzo slips inside. The space has already been prepared with everything he’ll need— there’s a low table with a pitcher of water and a tray of food, a fire burning in the hearth. His robes for the following night are stacked on another low table, silks in gold and red. 

A bed has been laid out for him as well, furs piled high on top of a futon, but they’re not all that’s in his bed. There is more silk there, narrow strips of it in the same colors as his ceremonial robes, a dozen of them at least. Hanzo’s rituals for the evening aren’t complete, yet.

There is still work to be done. 

Hanzo tugs off his shoes and leaves them next to the door before moving further into the room. He takes the wolf pelt off his head, the fur thick and white and pristine. Hanzo runs his fingers through it, looking into the vacant glass eyes with a satisfaction that will never fade.

It is his father’s pelt. Sojiro’s fur, Sojiro’s skin. His blood washed clean with time, but Hanzo remembers how it looked, vibrant red soaked into every inch. 

Remembers how it felt to sink his teeth in and tear out Sojiro’s throat. 

When an Alpha dies of natural causes their pelt is worn as a sign of wisdom, passed down through the years. When an Alpha is killed by their successor, it’s worn as a symbol of conquest.

Nothing in his life had ever felt as good as skinning Sojiro like an animal. Tanning his hide, treating his fur. Cutting him to pieces, and shaping him to Hanzo’s will. Even with all the infighting that came after, Hanzo has never had any regrets. 

Or maybe he has one.

He should have made it last. Should have dragged it out.

Should have made Sojiro suffer even an ounce of what he and Genji had suffered at his hands, but then his blood was on Hanzo’s tongue and his flesh parted under Hanzo’s teeth and there was nothing he could do but tear him apart. Genji and Hanzo spent the next months— the next  _ year—  _ fighting off challengers to Hanzo’s claim as Alpha. One after another, an endless procession of wolves, all of them confident in their ability to bring Hanzo to his knees and make him submit.

Just because Sojiro had done it all this time didn’t mean it was easy.

For a while everything was a blur of chaos and unrest. Hanzo fought, and fought, and fought, Genji at his back and gore in his teeth, spirits roiling furious in his skin. Wolves from his own pack, wolves he’d never seen before, Alphas trying to absorb the Shimada clan whole. Some of them yielded and limped away with their tails between their legs.

Some were burned, or buried, too proud and too stubborn to accept defeat.

When the dust settles the clan is a little smaller, but a lot stronger. Every wolf is loyal to Hanzo in a way only conflict can forge. Many of the alphas singing songs to Hanzo on the wind are wolves he fought only months before, now eager to pledge their lives to him any way they can, something warm and wanting stoked in their blood as he stood over them with fire in his eyes. They sing, and he listens, but he doesn’t need their music.

He just needs his mate.

Hanzo sets Sojiro’s pelt down on a table and finishes disrobing, clothes folded and set neatly on the floor. His heat has made him restless, even in these early stages, and he’s eager to get to the next portion of the rituals.

It will make things worse before they are better. None of the need in Hanzo will be truly sated until the run is over— until he is pressed down into rich earth and dry leaves, moonlight filtering through the trees as he’s taken— but the lure of temporary relief is too strong to ignore, even if tradition didn’t demand it. 

The furs he crawls into are his own, carried from the castle, thick with his scent.

Thick with  _ Genji’s  _ scent, traces of his rut still clinging to them. It has been weeks, but Hanzo can still smell it when he buries his face in the fur and breathes. His false heat brought with it more than simply the promise of a mating run and a whirlwind of ritual. The fighting and instability of his first year as Alpha had held his cycle at bay where it otherwise might have manifested months ago.

Hanzo is too young for this— leading his clan, defending their territory. It would usually be centuries before a shift in leadership was considered, but Sojiro’s heirs have a tendency to die before they’re ready to step into their role as Alpha. Tragic accidents, supposed abandonment, rumors of betrayal. A dozen brothers and sisters in the ground before Hanzo was born, and it wasn’t hard to see where he would end up, except things were different for Hanzo.

Hanzo has Genji behind him, teeth bared and claws out, always ready to spill blood.

Even Sojiro’s, it seems. Considering how Sojiro became Alpha, he really should have seen it coming.

Hanzo is Alpha before his heat has taken, barely twenty winters behind him. Genji is his second before first rut has hit, the spirit in him always on edge. 

Too young for this, both of them, but Hanzo has been kneeling all his life and he can’t abide it anymore. There was Sojiro’s blood, then the clans, then dozens of wolves who saw Hanzo and Genji and thought they were easy prey.

Then there was quiet, Sojiro’s pelt on his head and Sojiro’s clan on their knees for  _ Hanzo. _

His false heat brought the run, but it also brought Genji’s rut.

It brought Genji to his bed, tugging at Hanzo’s clothes, nipping at his skin. 

Genji in his bed was nothing new— they sleep together now, the wolves in them refusing to calm unless they were close, but the past few months had been different. Genji’s arms tighter around him, nosing through the dark spill of Hanzo’s hair to press tentative kisses to his throat. Genji’s mouth on his pulse point, Genji’s fingers working the ties on his clothes. He seemed most content with one hand shoved between Hanzo’s thighs, palm tucked behind his cock, laid flat over the tender skin of his sex.

Over the tight slit of his cunt, present but not yet open, waiting for the rush of his false heat before it parted for him. Before it grew wet, and sensitive, and ached for Genji’s touch.

Then it came and Genji caught Hanzo’s scent, sweet with slick and laced with want like they’ve never felt before, and his rut hit like a storm. 

He crawled in Hanzo’s bed and tugged down his furs, clawed fingers tearing his clothes open. Cock hard against his thigh, knot already swelling at the base,  _ anija, it aches, I need you. _

The clan loved Hanzo. Respected Hanzo. Dynamic meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, and no one batted an eye at having an omega lead them, but they would balk at this— an omega of standing mated outside the rituals of the run. Their Alpha shunning centuries of tradition to follow his own whims instead without giving the packs a chance to gather, and sing, and chase him. Even without a mating bite they would scent Genji in him, something unmistakable that couldn’t be washed away.

Genji didn’t care about that, but he came back to himself when Hanzo reminded him, gently, that omegas weren’t ready to be mated until their second heat; that he would bleed, and tear, and scar. That Genji’s knot would be agony instead of ecstasy, and Genji shook his head, no,  _ no. _

_ I don’t want to hurt you. _

So Hanzo whined through the muted waves of lust that assailed him, and buried his hands in Genji’s hair, letting him grind helplessly between the flex of Hanzo’s thighs. He wrapped his fist around Genji’s knot and squeezed tight, Genji rubbing the mess of his come into Hanzo’s skin, shuddering through his climaxes again, and again, and again.

_ Soon,  _ Hanzo promised between frantic kisses, Genji’s teeth scraping against his lips, jaw shivering with the need to bite.

_ Not soon enough,  _ Genji complained, fucking into Hanzo’s fist, voice laced with a growl.

The next month dragged, the clan elders busying themselves with preparations for the run, wolves trickling in a handful at a time until Shimada castle was bursting with them. Alphas trying to catch Hanzo’s eye, hoping Hanzo would catch their scent.

Genji has spent the last few weeks with his eyes lit up and his spirits pushing at him from within, lashing out at anyone foolish enough to get in his way. 

Then the first hints of Hanzo’s heat arrived a few days ago— a flush in his cheeks, a warmth in his scent— and Genji left the castle entirely, shifting into his wolf form and disappearing into the trees. A flash of white fur and a snarl, and then he was gone, leaving Hanzo alone with fire slowly building in his blood.

No one outside the clan knows Genji is running. Some of the elders suspect, he’s sure, and a few of Hanzo’s high ranking wolves have mentioned Genji’s absence with a lilt in their voices. No one asks directly. No one seems surprised.

Their scents have been tangled up for so long it might be stranger if he didn’t participate, but that doesn’t mean everyone is happy about it. When they gather for the run things may be tense, but Hanzo doesn’t dwell on it.

There will be time to be worried when he is flying through the trees, a few dozen rutting alphas on his heels, wild with the chase. 

For now, there are rituals to observe.

Hanzo lays on his back on his furs, taking a few strips of silk in hand and letting his knees fall wide. They’re soft under his fingers, and Hanzo eases them between his thighs, rubbing the fabric against the wet heat of his cunt. His slick soaks into the fibers, and he drops them down on the furs beneath him and reaches for more. Keeps going until all the silk is filthy with him, and by then he’s so wet it’s obscene. The pile of fabric is a tangled and unsalvageable, just the way they’re meant to be— tomorrow they’ll tie them in the trees, luring unsuspecting alphas away from Hanzo instead of towards him.

Save one, anyway. 

When he’s finished marking the silk his desperation has sharpened into an edge he can’t deny. He doesn’t press his fingers into himself, even if no one would know the difference— Hanzo would know, and he’s waited this long.

It’s for Genji, first.

Hanzo palms his overheated slit, grinding the heel of his hand against it, shaking as he finishes. Once isn’t enough— a hundred times wouldn’t be enough. 

Nothing but Genji will be enough, but Hanzo keeps going anyway, until his knuckles are dripping and his wrist is sore. Until his thighs are shaking, toes curled in his furs, body twisting as he comes, comes, comes. The emptiness only gets more pronounced, a hollow place in Hanzo that agonizes to be filled more with every brief rush of bliss.

When he’s too exhausted to continue he buries his face in the fur that smells the most like Genji, hands tucked between his thighs where Genji’s usually are, flames simmering low in the hearth.

When he wakes it will be nothing but embers, but Hanzo will still be warm.

-

Hanzo sleeps the day away, body hungry for moonlight. 

He’s hungry for a lot of things, but moonlight comes first. He comes awake just after sunset; Hanzo expected it to be powerful, but he hadn’t understood. Hanzo is on fire.

Not just on fire. 

Hanzo is burning alive. 

He’s face down on his furs, most of those he’d been using as blankets kicked off in the night, a mess of silk fabric scattered around his pallet. Hanzo grinds his hips against the folds of his pelts with a whine; it doesn’t take much. A few moments of desperate rocking, and there’s a rush of slick between his thighs.

An instant of relief. A few heartbeats. 

One ragged breath, and then the need is back, sharper than before and swallowing him up. He trembles, flexing his thighs against one another, feeling the way they slide. The noise he makes is animal, something that sounds like it should have come from the throat of his wolf.

As soon as he quiets there’s a knock at the door.

“Alpha, it’s time.”

Hanzo swallows down the growl that tries to rise and climbs to his feet on unsteady legs, pulling on his ceremonial robes without tying them and letting the priests inside. They collect the silk lures from his pallet, leaving one behind— Hanzo picks it up, stuffs it in his pocket. He wants to snarl when they ask him to sit, but the sooner he’s painted and dressed and prepared, the sooner he’ll be running.

They brush his hair, putting some smaller braids down the front but mostly leaving it loose. It’s easier for an alpha grab hold of, even if no one says it. No one needs to say it. 

Everybody knows.

They paint his face to match his spirit tattoos, gold under his eyes and striping his chin; twisting down his throat, harsh lines on his chest and abdomen. 

He’s panting as they get him ready, eyes glowing steadily, teeth sharp and nails clawed. He won’t wear his Alpha pelt for this; isn’t Alpha right now, technically. His clan wouldn’t dare disobey him, but the power of his voice is gone while Hanzo is in the sway of his heat. He cannot bend them to his will.

It matters less than it should. Hanzo doesn’t have to wield his power like a weapon as most Alphas do. He wielded his teeth and his claws long enough. His clan will follow him with or without an Alpha’s order to lead them. It doesn’t matter here.

It will matter in the trees if someone from his pack besides Genji finds him, but Hanzo has fought many of them before, and he can do it again.

Or that’s what he tells himself as the priests tie his robes, and stand,  _ everything is ready, Alpha. _

_ Let us go. _

There are already howls echoing in the distance where the alphas are penned in together, waiting to be set loose. They pick their way through the woods towards the sound, and every step has Hanzo throbbing. The cold is a distant thing, all the priests around him huddled in thick cloaks and gloves and layers of fur, but even the silk of Hanzo’s robes are stifling. The moon shines down through the tree branches, and his spirits are roiling in him, twisting and eager.

Not as eager as Hanzo.

Not as eager as the alphas who are waiting over the next rise in the landscape. The howls surge for a moment as they crest the hill, loud enough that it hurts his ears, but the cacophony dies off as Hanzo closes the distance between them. 

There are a few dozen alphas crowded together in a makeshift wooden enclosure. It’s a symbolic gesture, the cobbled together wooden beams nothing strong enough to really keep them contained, but breaking free would be an insult to the clan hosting the run.

An insult to Hanzo, and they all know how Hanzo answers insults.

In pelts delivered back to their packs, washed and tanned, hollow eye sockets stuffed with glass.

A handful of alphas are already fully shifted in the enclosure, scratching at the dirt with their front paws, restless and ready to run. Others are in the half shift, teeth and claws sharp, ears furred and sitting high on their heads with their tails curling out behind them. Just as many are still human, only their bright eyes betraying their eagerness, watching Hanzo as he eases closer. 

The stench of rut is strong enough that Hanzo wrinkles his nose. The scent of Genji’s rut on its own is exquisite. Something that makes Hanzo whine, and grit his teeth, and tremble.

The scent of more than a dozen unfamiliar alphas he has no interest in mating with is enough to have him swallowing around the urge to gag. If there were less of them it might be enticing.

This many together registers as a threat more than a promise.

Genji stands in front of them all, arms slipped casually through the wooden slats as he leans his elbows on them, the alphas nearby giving Genji a wide berth. He’s naked— they all are— the red of his tattoo glowing softly, shimmering in the moonlight. Everyone stares as Genji meets his gaze, wolves falling quiet, going still. There’s the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, everyone holding their breaths. Waiting.

“Anija,” Genji says, smiling slow and feral. 

“Genji,” Hanzo replies, and Genji twists one of his wrists until his palm is upturned. Open. Expectant. 

Hanzo reaches into his pocket for the strip of red silk there, his scent soaked into the threads. He places it in Genji’s palm, a smile mirroring Genji’s spreading across his face. It makes Genji a target; the other alphas will try to slow him down, try to distract him. There are undoubtedly some running who have no interest in Hanzo, but are there only to help their packmates get closer to the prize. Still, it doesn’t matter.

Heat in his veins and on his tongue and pooling between his thighs, Hanzo is helpless to do anything else. It’s for Genji.

Has always been.

“Alpha,” Hanzo says, and Genji lifts the fabric up to his nose, eyes flaring gold and lashes fluttering as he breathes Hanzo in deep. Hanzo leans in and whispers low. “If you’re fast enough.”

Genji snarls loudly, and the alphas closest to him take an automatic step back before catching themselves. Giving Genji space is the last thing they need to do if they want to get close to Hanzo, but instincts are a powerful thing, and theirs are serving them well; telling them Genji is dangerous.

Telling them they’re safer if they are far, far away from him.

There’s a rush of quiet murmuring now, both from the alphas waiting to run and their packmates lingering in the trees all around watching. Surprise. Disbelief. Confusion. Hanzo doesn’t know what they expected, but it wasn’t this— Genji with his brother’s favor in hand, ready to fight his way through to claim him. It’s easy to pick out his own wolves in the crowd, now.

They’re the ones not blinking, not balking, not reacting. 

Hanzo lets his robes drop to the ground and turns, walking to the edge of the forest where the trees start to thicken in earnest. The priests are lighting incense, mumbling prayers in the old language. There’s the rustle of leaves and the rush of energy that tell Hanzo more of the wolves behind him are shifting.

The moonlight is a physical thing on his skin. Hanzo closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sky, lets it wash over him in waves. He wants Genji with a ferocity that’s dug itself into his flesh, anchored in his ribs, bound to Hanzo’s bones.

He wants Genji, but first he has to run.

Hanzo shifts between one heartbeat and the next, dropping down to all fours as easy as breathing. He’s pitch black from head to toe, a sharp contrast to Genji’s pure white, though both their eyes are golden bright.

For a moment there is the memory of Sojiro’s hands in his fur, in his hair. Forcing him down on his knees,  _ easy, Hanzo, shhhh. _

He always did favor their mother.

Hanzo shakes it off.

Breathes in and howls loudly enough that birds scatter from the trees, animals skittering away through the underbrush.

Then Hanzo is flying through the forest, out of sight of the alphas, paws crashing through leaves and sticks and brambles. Stealth isn’t important right now; Hanzo needs distance, first and foremost. He has a head start but it won’t count for much soon enough.

Hanzo runs until his lungs feel like they might burst. He weaves serpentine through the trees, splashing through creeks to confuse the trail he’s leaving, using the terrain to his advantage. This is his territory— Genji’s territory. They’ve been navigating through the Shimada lands all their lives.

He could traverse these woods with his eyes closed. His breath fogs, nose leading him towards an area where the trees are less densely packed. Hanzo will need room to move, eventually.

Will need room to fight.

He’s nothing but a dark shape slipping through the undergrowth, mouth open as he pants, paws damp and ears high. Hanzo is reveling in the euphoria of the moon and the run and the change when a howl breaks through the night behind him. It’s close enough that there’s no point in evasion, but far enough that he’s got time to shift without worrying. 

He’s faster on four legs but stronger on two, so Hanzo lets it roll over him, the half shift shivering into place. He’ll need his claws, his long teeth, his keen senses. His heat had been a faraway pull of need in his wolf form, but it comes back with a vengeance now, eliciting a whine he can’t manage to swallow. Whoever is pursuing him hears it, changes course slightly.

The sound of them crashing through the branches gets louder, at least one alpha barrelling towards him with another howl. Hanzo turns and sinks into a crouch, the spirits in his skin riling, a beacon in the darkness. He catches their scent an instant before they burst into the clearing. It’s one of his wolves, which is no less than he expects of them.

They’ve been running after Hanzo through these lands all year long. It is only logical they’d be the first to find him, here. It isn’t someone who challenged Hanzo for his place as Alpha, which is gratifying somehow. Someone capable, who has always believed Hanzo worthy, willing to stand against Genji for the fleeting chance to make Hanzo his own.

Hideyuki shifts mid-run and goes wide eyed when he catches sight of Hanzo, as though surprised to see him. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate. 

Just tackles Hanzo into the dirt with a growl. It should be easy to fight him off— Hideyuki is  _ fast,  _ but Hanzo is stronger, and meaner— but then there’s the scent of rut in his nose and it’s warm and familiar. Hanzo has slept curled up with Hideyuki and the rest of his wolves in the moonlight. Has tucked his nose into Hideyuki’s ruff, Genji at his back, all of them exhausted after a run. Slick drips between his thighs, and Hideyuki’s hands are around his wrists, and for a moment Hanzo is whining and pliant and willing underneath him. Hideyuki smells like alpha. Smells like need. 

Smells like Hanzo’s. 

Hanzo wants, and this alpha can give it to him.

Hideyuki’s brows furrow, utter confusion on his face. He didn’t anticipate catching Hanzo at all, but his Alpha gone limp and docile and spreading his thighs is enough to give him pause. He hesitates, now, and it’s that hesitation that has Hanzo’s head clearing, the haze of his heat fading back for a moment.

He is Hanzo’s wolf, but he is not Genji. 

Hanzo snarls and rolls them, wrestling Hideyuki down and getting his hands around his throat. He stills underneath him, but his hands are sliding higher on Hanzo’s thighs, like he can’t resist the temptation. Hanzo squeezes tighter, and Hideyuki makes a pained noise, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Are you done?” Hanzo asks. Hideyuki is beaten; that doesn’t mean he won’t chase after Hanzo again if given the chance. He can’t speak like this but his hands answer where his mouth fails, thumbs creeping around the inside of Hanzo’s thighs to rub circles in the slick there. Hanzo cocks his head to the side and digs a claw into his neck, blood spilling bright from the wound. “Do I need to make sure you stay down?”

Hideyuki nods as best he can, trying to expose his throat for Hanzo. He knows Hanzo has bested him but the wolf in him will be hungry all the same. Hanzo brushes his hair back from his face, then presses it into the dirt to hold him in place.

“I am sorry, Hide.”

Hanzo slits his throat.

He gurgles, body twitching as he reaches up to try and staunch the blood flow. It won’t kill him— Hanzo was careful— but by the time it heals he’ll be far too weak to keep up. It’s the kindest way he can think of the take someone out of commission. Broken bones hurt worse, take longer to mend, and he can’t bring himself to disembowel a wolf like Hideyuki. Hanzo waits until the wound stops bleeding, until the ragged gash of his throat starts stitching together.

“You did well,” he says, and Hideyuki nods drowsily, lids drooping.

Then Hanzo leaves him there and keeps running. The paint on his wrists and thighs is smeared. Hanzo’s hands are dripping gore. 

Hide is the first alpha to find him, but he’s not the last. 

A pair of alphas running together try to corner him against an outcropping of rock. They aren’t his wolves; they’re smug, pleased with themselves. Hanzo takes a few moments to break their legs and vanishes into the trees again. He has a trail of shattered alphas in his wake as he works his way deeper into the forest, every scuffle leaving him with the scent of strange wolves clinging to his skin. Hanzo snaps bones, dislocates jaws. Sometimes it’s one alpha clawing and biting, trying to put him on his knees and take him.

Sometimes it is two, or three, or four. He wonders where his brother is, and how much trouble the others must be giving him if he hasn’t come for Hanzo yet. Hanzo isn’t worried— it’s only a matter of time. 

Genji doesn’t know how to fail him.

By the time Genji finds Hanzo, he is blood-soaked and gasping for breath. He’s got an alpha on the ground at his feet, holding his stomach together with his hands, whining softly as it slowly mends. No one from his pack. No one worthy of the care he’s shown his own wolves, even when cutting them down.

The heat in Hanzo has been swelling and surging until it’s all he can do to breathe.

His skin is flushed all over. His hands are shaking. There’s slick dripping down his thighs.

Hanzo is so empty it feels like he’ll collapse in on himself, and then Genji is there, painted in shades of red with wild eyes and sharp teeth. His irises are lit up, chest rising and falling fast, tattoo burning ethereal like the wolf in him is just as desperate for Hanzo as its master. They both stand there in the half shift, frozen in place across the clearing, gazes locked together. 

There is no one else for him. Has never been, will never be; Hanzo wants Genji.

First he has to run.

He turns and flies through the trees, listening to Genji’s furious snarl as he takes off after him. It won’t be much of a chase— Genji has always been faster— but he makes him work for it, makes him push himself. Even after fighting his way through who knows how many alphas Genji closes the distance like it’s nothing at all. 

Hanzo can  _ feel  _ when Genji leaps for him. The air crackles between them, like the lightning that sounds out when their spirits take form. 

Then they’re on the ground in a tangle of limbs, Genji’s hands seeking purchase, and Hanzo can’t help but smile.

Catching him is only half the battle.

Hanzo twists around underneath him, slipping easily out of Genji’s hold and rolling them, straddling Genji’s hips with a smirk. Genji growls and wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist, throwing him off and trying to climb on top of him again. They tussle on the ground, Genji’s palms sliding on Hanzo’s skin in the mess of blood. There are leaves in Hanzo’s hair, streaks of gold paint on Genji’s arms, on his chest, on his face. 

Hanzo knows just how Genji will move. Knows where he drops his guard, and how to exploit it. When to pull, and when to press, and when to roll. Fighting Genji is easy.

Fighting Genji is  _ safe. _

Genji’s making animal noises the whole time, and every vicious sound has Hanzo pulsing fresh slick between his thighs. Heat burns all the way down into him, sore like nothing he’s ever felt before, like he’ll die if he doesn’t soothe it. Even so, the wolf in him demands Genji prove himself. 

Then their struggling puts his nose at Genji’s throat, and when he breathes in the scent of his rut the wolf in him demands something else entirely. 

Hanzo goes absolutely boneless, throat bared in submission and thighs falling wide to expose the wet, aching heat of his cunt. It throbs with every beat of his heart, cock curving up from it to drip against his belly. Just the cool night air on his slit is enough to have him whining. Genji grinds against him without pressing in, and Hanzo shakes all over. There are tears in his eyes. 

Genji kisses him, rumbling out a guttural croon and clinging to Hanzo so tight his claws draw blood. 

“Genji,” Hanzo breathes when they break apart, and Genji mouths down Hanzo’s jaw to scrape long fangs against his throat. “Now.”

As if Genji was capable of waiting.

He bites down over Hanzo’s pulse point, over the swollen glands in his neck. It will scar— it’s the only wound he’ll ever keep for longer than a few hours. The only mark of violence that will heal but never fade. Genji sinks his teeth in deep, flexes his jaw. Tugs, tilting his head back and forth, grinding his canines into the bite. He wants Hanzo to tear, now. Wants him to bleed. 

Wants everyone to see him, and know just how savagely Genji adores him.

The mate bond is ephemeral. Delicate. Something they’ll have to reach for and feel out between them over the next months and years. It isn’t immediately tangible, but Hanzo feels it settle in place; like the bonds of pack but stronger, but more vital.

Genji is already tied to him with blood, and loyalty, and now there is something warm and hungry binding them impossibly tighter.

Genji pulls back, mouth wet with blood, and kisses Hanzo again. Their tattoos glimmer in the dark, gold and red light twisting up and down them like filigree, throwing eerie shadows on the trees. He smiles, more wolf than man, pink in his teeth and eyes full of love.

Then he manhandles Hanzo onto his hands and knees and buries himself in the tight heat of his cunt in one rough thrust. 

Hanzo arches his spine, head thrown back as he rocks into it, as though Genji could be any deeper. It’s everything he needs— everything he’s been needing for days. This isn’t the ghost of Genji’s rut in fleeting traces clinging to Hanzo’s furs; it’s all he can smell, all he can feel. He comes, clenching around Genji with a whimper as slick drips messy between them. Genji snarls against his skin, knot already swelling at the base of his cock, threatening to catch.

Genji lays himself over Hanzo’s back. Grabs his hips with clawed fingers, little pinpricks trailing blood down his thighs.

Genji splays a palm between his shoulders, shoves his face into the dirt, and fucks him with all the hunger that’s been setting Hanzo ablaze. There’s soft earth under his fingers, and he’s scrabbling for purchase in the leaves, body jerking roughly forward as Genji sinks into him again and again. He’s crooning louder, now, the sound laced with a growl. There will be no more alphas stumbling towards them through the trees.

They’ll scent the two of them together, hear the noises Genji’s making. The hunt is over.

It’s all Hanzo can do to hold himself in place while Genji takes him, Hanzo mewling, Genji biting and scratching and grinding endlessly against him. Hanzo comes again— once, twice. He doesn’t know when he slipped into his human form again, but his fingers aren’t clawed anymore, and they tremble as he reaches back to try and get his hands on Genji. 

“Genji,” Hanzo whines, grasping blindly, and Genji croons louder and eases him onto his back.

It’s no gentler like this, but Hanzo can tuck his face into Genji’s throat, feel Genji’s heart pounding behind his ribs. Hanzo is wretched by the time Genji’s hips stutter against him, slick covered and sweating and filthy. Genji bares his teeth, and hisses, knot swelling thick and fast to lock them both together. The haze of his heat only fades as he fills Hanzo up in warm bursts, Hanzo’s lashes fluttering as he relaxes at the feeling. It will continue as long as Genji’s knot is present.

When he pulls out it will be obscene.

For the moment Genji just presses toothy kisses up and down Hanzo’s throat, reaching down to slip his fingers between them and feel where they’re joined, growling out pleased noises as Hanzo shudders. Clouds twist through the sky overhead, blocking out the moon in transitory snatches as they roll past. Normally the allure would be too strong to resist, but Hanzo has already run for her tonight.

Genji kisses him again, the red and gold of their tattoos finally dimmed into something barely noticeable, wolves in them satisfied for now. 

For now, but not for long.

-

When Genji’s knot releases the temptation to spread his thighs and draw his brother back inside is powerful. Genji stands instead, tugging Hanzo up and into his arms. His heat is far from abated but the promise of soft furs and fresh water and four walls around them is too much to resist. They can run more tomorrow night, when the draw of his cycle has lessened and his wounds have healed.

It’s a long walk back to the temple, especially with Hanzo clenching his thighs together and making pitiful noises, nosing at Genji’s throat and making every step more difficult than it needs to be. There are still alphas laying here and there, bones not mended enough for them to stand, skin not knitted together, dizzy with blood loss. They tilt their heads to the side until it looks painful, baring their throats for Hanzo and Genji as they pass. 

When they emerge from the treeline where they started all of the Shimada pack is there, gathered together in front of the rest of the wolves, a path open through the center of them that leads towards the temple. They catch sight of the two of them, Genji carrying Hanzo with his chin high, defiance written into every inch of him. 

Something vestigial left over from when Sojiro was his Alpha and holding Hanzo close was an act of rebellion. No one in the clan protests.

None of them would dare.

A chorus of howls rises up around them, starting with their pack and spreading out through the rest as they make their way through the crowd. It’s loud enough that Hanzo can feel it in his chest. His spirits preen. Hanzo is the definition of devastated, hair wild and thighs filthy with slick and come, skin smeared with blood in a dozen places. There is no shame in him.

There is nothing to be ashamed of in this; he’s followed the rituals, and honored his spirits.

Genji is his.

The look on Genji’s face is triumphant. He smiles, eyes straight ahead, not sparing anyone else a glance. The space his wolves opened for them closes as they pass, winding their way up the hill to the temple. It isn’t the priests standing guard in a loose circle around the building anymore but Hanzo’s packmates, most of them in their animal forms, already settled in to wait. They howl when they see Hanzo. Keep howling until Genji carries him into the temple and shuts the door behind them.

The scent of Hanzo’s heat is still thick in the air, and Genji’s croon picks up again as he breathes it in, nuzzling at Hanzo’s hair. The priests have brought in a large wooden tub and filled it with steaming water, along with several smaller basins and some of Hanzo’s softest robes. Genji sets him down and they both wash the worst of the dirt and gore off themselves before Hanzo climbs into the tub to finishing bathing. He unties the braids from his hair, lets Genji pick out the leaves and brush through the strands before dropping under the water and scrubbing it clean.

When he surfaces Genji slips his fingers between Hanzo’s thighs and presses them into his cunt, lapping at his teeth marks in Hanzo’s throat as he coaxes another orgasm out of him. Hanzo doesn’t have the patience for soaking after that.

He ends up on his back in his furs, Genji buried in him again, fire crackling nearby as wolves howl on and off in the distance. Sojiro’s pelt sits in the corner, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. They come together until Hanzo is dozing off, even with Genji moving in him, both of them sore as the sun comes up outside the temple.

Some of the warmth of his cycle has faded, but Hanzo doesn’t feel the loss.

Genji will keep him warm.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things here or on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


End file.
